Our Shadowed Evening
by Jemmz
Summary: A short fic of Charlie and Liam reflecting on life during their druggie rockstar days. For a challenge on LJ. Probably not that bad, but rated T just in case.


**Title: **Our Shadowed Evening**  
Rating: **PG 13

**Characters: **Charlie & Liam.**  
Warning: **Involves mentions of drugs.

**A/N: **Yes, more angst. It's uncontrollable! The song I used was House Lights by Steven Strait: This was for a challenge on LJ (: You had to write a fic to a song that inspired you. Thus the use of the House Lights song.

No one ever has to know.

We can sit here all night, until the fire has burned away. And the lids of our eyes flutter shut. We can sit here until our minds are too blurred to even communicate with each other. We can leave the telly on, buzzing silently as we lay lazily on our backs seeing things we wouldn't normally see. Feeling nothing. Hearing nothing but our slurred laughter and voices as we talk with each other long in to the night. Our shadowed evening...

Tell me all your secrets.

And I'll tell you all of mine.

Things we would never want to hear when sober. Things we would never have dreamed of hearing from the other. You tell me these things. And I'll tell you my darkest regrets. Regrets that would never leave my lips if I knew what I was doing. But for now, you can hear these things. You don't ever have to go. You can sit and listen. And I will do the same.

We feed each other the heroin. Our favourite drug. It drinks away our sorrow.

Feed me all your favourites. I need to know I'm not alone.

No one ever has to know.

In the dark nothing shows. Trust me. It's our secret.

Tell me all your bad days. I would have lived it all. We're similar, you and I. Tell me all your bad days and I'll fill you up with mine. I have plenty if you have the time. But you know we have hours. Hours on end. Just you and me, sitting drunkenly with each other. Lost in our own little world. Yes. We have plenty of time. You don't ever have to go. At least that's how it feels for now. As we sit in the darkness, surrounded by a blanket of black. The only light from the old television, placed alone in the corner of the room, buzzing away to idle ears.

Do you believe in love? And all the signs? You shrug. Do you love? Once again, a limp shrug. You really don't know. And nor do I. What is love anyway, I ask. You fall on to your back and close your eyes sluggishly, ignoring the question. You don't know and I doubt you care. At the moment, anyway. You rest your head back and clasp your hand over your eyes trying to avoid thinking about the next day.

'Cause after the rush has gone away. After the fade. After the fire has burned away and after the haze. After this, we're back to reality. Cold, cold reality. It's time to perform. And release our anger and pain on stage. Singing our hurt away and telling the world of our struggles. But they're not listening. Not really.

The roadies haul it all away for another day. And we return home to sweet, sweet relief.

We can sit here all night. Secret sharing. Unburdening ourselves. Not of sound mind. The telly blares and hums. We just sit here, staring at the swirling ceiling. The drugs confusing us mentally, yet relaxing us at the same time. We can talk about our latest troubles. Or we can just sit here, in our false haven. Knowing it's only temporary. Knowing it will soon wear off as we rest here in the dark. Our shadowed evening…

Tell me all your secrets.

I'll tell you all of mine.

Things we would never want to hear when fully conscious. You're not one to lie to me. Not now.

Tell me all your troubles and I'll feed you my favourites. I'll hand you our escape.

No one ever has to know.

How did things get like this? Once again, you shrug, uncaring. I stretch my arms across the floor, aching, rolling on to my side slowly to face you, staring at you, unfocused. You're just a blur to me. And I suppose I am to you. But you don't really care. You just talk. And share with me your troubles. And your pain. Trying to forget about tomorrow when we would have to reveal ourselves to the world again. When we'll have to put away the drugs, turn up the houselights and get up on stage to sing to oblivious ears. I'm the only one who'll listen. They don't know. They never will.

No one ever sees the pain. The pain we reveal to them on stage. They don't know that's real. They'll never know.

No one ever has to know but us.


End file.
